“For it is in Giving that We Receive”, is a well known quote by Francis of Assisi.

My number one rule of thumb for giving is do not expect to receive in return what you have given. During this season we give gifts, sweets, and smiles. We wear ugly Christmas sweaters as ‘jokes’ (We know you secretly like them), and spray Ever Green scents around our plastic tree to make it feel real. You might think that based off my sarcastic tone that I don’t take Christmas very seriously.

I’m as serious as this guy. And equally as pissed.

Let me tell you how wonderful it is to work at the mall during the Christmas season. First, most people think it starts at Black Friday, you are wrong. Christmas in retail starts as late as Halloween. Therefore, I have to mentally prepare myself for the over abundance of hate I feel toward mindless shoppers. Like an actor warming up for their big speech; I must warm myself to the idea of no sleep. I am forced to shit jolly until I go home and cry to myself. All while taking off my light up Christmas socks. And its not my boss’ fault.

They work harder than I do. No one is happy during the holidays. It shouldn’t be that way. Not even the Santa Claus and let me tell you, nothing is more surreal then running into Santa outside on a smoke break. They get tired of retail bullshit and they only deal with it one time of year. They feel lucky getting paid 26 dollars an hour to sit and act happy. It’s better than getting paid minimum wage and smiling at a bitch Soccer Mom who doesn’t understand that we don’t have anymore clothing in the backroom.

I wonder is they sell this at Walmart.

Somehow, the one time of year we are supposed to be nice to our fellow man, we forget part of giving is being a nice person. I sometimes wonder how people would react if they saw how their gifter acquired their gift. I wouldn’t be very thankful if my gifter had made a manager cry in attempt to get 20% off. It would ruin it for me.

Christmas has been all about giving, things. Physical things, wrapped in colorful paper that we later pack into trash bags and shove out to the curb for garbage day. I’m not saying material gifts are a bad way to go. Hell, if anyone wants to buy me a customized gaming PC with duel screens, please, it’s on my Christmas list. Hey, even some nice socks would be nice.

Apparently, these are the most expensive socks in the world.

I’m just mentioning the strong emphasis on it. What happened to the small things? I would take a nice memory of sharing hot chocolate with my deceased grandmother over those socks any day. I only get to spend so much time with my family during the holidays. I have school, work, my writing, and cultivating my own life. I honestly forget other people exist sometimes. It’s not that I don’t love them and they aren’t important. We simply put so much emphasis on financial success that if you don’t have something to show for it in the form of a nice gift on the holidays, what’s the point?

Grampa would love these.

We are in a cycle of giving. Your parents give you a nice home, an education, and the tools to succeed (at least to the best of their ability). So in return they want to be reimbursed with things like, grandchildren and weddings. Preferably not in that order. These reimbursements require money, and if you don’t want either of those things. Bring them a nice present is a great way to show your success because in this society, success is measured in Benjamin Franklins.

So, to bring the entire conversation full circle. I don’t think material gifts are so important. I would much rather open a wine bottle and have a fulfilling conversation about memories and good times than the world’s most expensive socks. Even regular Walmart socks. I think everyone is too high stressed during the holidays. They shop all night on Black Friday for pointless material stuff that probably will only last till next Christmas. Instead of focusing on cultivating memories that will last a life time. Until you get Alzheimer’s. Then, I guess you should have just asked for the expensive socks.

About 7 months ago I was lucky enough to find baby Omar. A three week old kitten with a severe upper respiratory infection. He was on the brink of death and not eating. I spent the first night with him calling every vet I could in the Cincinnati area, attempting to find any help I could get to save his life.

My first night with Omar

By morning I finally took my search to the road with Omar asleep on my chest. Thinking that maybe if a Vet could just see how bad his condition was he would find some way to let me pay in monthly increments. I finally found Noah’s Ark animal clinic, where they got me in contact with a cat rescue who would take him off my hands.

He needed hydration and severe antibiotics. His eyes were so swollen that he couldn’t open them and they were crusted shut. After meeting a woman from the rescue she assured me he would be in good care and that she will call me with updates. I left thinking his hard journey was over and he could finally find his fur-ever home.

Little Omar Sleeping at the Vet

But I got a phone call two hour later. The rescue told me Omar had FIV (Feline Immunodeficiency Virus) and she could not take him because he could possibly infect the other cats she has rescued. She asked me to take him back after his treatment if I did not, than the most likely outcome would for them to put him down.

So that night I picked him back up. I had to give him anti-bionics every 4 hours, eye drops every 11 hours, and feed him every 3 with a mixture of cat milk and a high protein soft food.

The little bed I made him that he wouldn’t sleep in.

For the next 3 weeks I raised him from near death. Never before have I loved such a pain in my ass. He had to sleep next to my head every night, cried when I left the room or when he couldn’t hear me.

I used a unity scarf to carry him around so I could have free hands.

Finally after about 4 weeks he opened his eyes for the first time and the swelling when down on his eyes. He was playing like a kitten and eating without me forcing him.

Sexy

Soon he had enough energy to start getting into trouble. Jumping on the counter, messing with the dog, and attacking feet. My mom finally told me I wasn’t allowed to find him another family because he was part of our family.

This is me now. Almost 22 years old. I’m not perfect, especially not skinny, but I think I am beautiful in the most humble way possible. It took almost ten years for me to find myself. Today, while at work, I did some thinking and came across a memory I had put away with the intent of never discovering it again. The first time I realized I was overweight and how people treated me because of it.
I was 13 and I was in a middle school gym class. I was sitting down during a free day close to a bunch of preppy teenage girls. They were all laughing having fun. I was sitting alone. I remember one of the girl wrapped her hands around her thigh and stated, “Look! I can touch my fingers around my thigh.”
The other girls did the same thing, rejoicing in their thinness, and laughing. I wanted to try but I was too embarrassed knowing I couldn’t.
I felt gross and uncomfortable in my own skin, and thus started the chain of insecurities I had struggling with.
It was a long road, but I’m stronger because of it.
This is just a small post to celebrate beauty in every form, and to let everyone one know you aren’t alone. You aren’t the only person hiding their hate for themselves. It is possible to love yourself despite your faults and there are people who support you in that journey!